that time of year

It seems to me the world's divided into "let's go crazy and put fairy lights over the whole house" and "bah, humbug" people.

Well, I guess that's not entirely true; there's also people like me -- those who waver between "this is nice" and sinking depression.

Don't get me wrong -- I like Xmas! Saying you don't like Xmas is like saying you don't drink -- people think you're a party-pooper. Of course, I don't drink. Carla says that's why I'm so aggressively funny (her words; she's not my biggest fan -- you guessed that, right?) -- she reckons I'm trying to distract people from my sobriety. Interesting theory, except that I've always been like that, long before I reached the age where people expect me to get drunk every weekend. (That's normal, right? Or do I move in the wrong circles?)

Anyway, Xmas has got lots of good points: I like the food; I like giving presents (except for the anxiety of hoping I've chosen right); I like getting presents (of course); the whole family get-together, everyone-be-nice is good. It's just ... well, hell, it's what it always is -- the past, reaching out its slimy tentacles and shadowing my present. I get depressed and tense at Xmas because of all those past Xmases, before my new life. I guess ... I guess eventually enough time will have passed, and I'll have built up enough happy memories to wipe out the unhappy ones.

Wish I knew how to hasten the process.